Last Chance
by Thru Terry's Eyes
Summary: Auction story fo Vanessa Sgroi. In pain/nauseaus/shaky/bleeding/back arching/Dean!, bloody hands/Sam! Per request, a few additons of my own, a blind monster, a plot so thin you could read thru it. Swearing. I'd turn back if I were you.
1. Chapter 1: Once In A Lifetime

**Last Chance**

**AN:** The last few months have sucked big time, (whoa, major surprise there! This is me after all, whoda thunk?) I went to Kazcon, had a great time bullying my Hellhounds and wearing my new belt buckle with the .38 holstered on it. (Gift from my husband) Met a lot of people I had seen before but not really interacted with, as Gaelic will tell you I'm not the most interractive person with new people. If anything I become even more obnoxious than normal. Does, however, wave to everyone I met there. As always it's a treeat to meet the people I talk to all the time in person.

Serbella the next time a girl with black and white hair wearing a gunbelt stands near you, staring expectantly, speak.

I WAS going to go to the Chicago Con, was SO looking forward to going with Gaelicspirit and Amy Blair. I was actually gpoing to get the guys autograph in person (ta Amy so much again) have 3 minutes of ecstasy (How in the HELL do you spell that?) then die happy. But due to my general state of suckage I was forced to cancel, a blow from which I may never recover. Everyone who IS going enjoy yourselves and I wish I could have met some of you. (I wish i could have met THEM) I'll have to watch the vids and enjoy it vicariously like always. If it works for anyone, tell the guys Terry says hi. (If that sounds pathetic, it was meant to) Deangirl1, I wanted to meet you in person, I'm sorry it won't happen, maybe in another life. I know you're as terrific as Gaelic says you are.

Still searching fruitlessly for new employment, I don't know how much longer I can stay where I am without killing someone. I've noticed a definite arm's reach distance between me and everyone else. It's JUST possible I may be projecting.

Let's see, I was climbing the racks at work and caught my sterling silver replica of Dean's ring on a shelf bracket. When I climbed down, the ring didn't. The ripped flesh of my thumb and the fact that I had to go home to find some tools to cut the ring off were nothing compared to the loss of the ring itself. Thank God it was sterling, the other ring is steel and I'd still be hanging there. It's pretty much healed now, ta, and my husband gave me a new ring to replace it for a 30th wedding anniversary present. (Yes, I'm THAT old)

My website is mostly repaired and I have a lot of new stuff on there, thruterryseyes dot com, if you're interested or just need a good laugh.

And as Gaelic put it the other day, the world is ending, I am now on Facebook. I also have a Deviant Art account, as Silver4456, my alter ego. (I've just become the true social butterfly, hell I thought LJ was confusing, I look at my facebook page and just go WTF? (I accidentally changed my daughter's sex for God's sake)

I'm trying to think of somethig clever to write since it's been SO long since I've done anything, I don't even have time to play that drabble game anymore, but my mind is a blank, so with that fact in mind, once again I have dragged my reluctant carcass into the open air and feel compelled to inflict on you all yet another dismal offering. This is an auction story for Vanessa Sgroi, my most patient friend. I asked her what she wanted to see and this is her list, my comments are in bold:

1. Dean has to writhe in pain and arch his back in pain at least once. **(Well, hell yeah)**

2. Dean has to throw up at least once. **(that was a given)**

3. Sam leaves a bloody handprint somewhere. **(works for me)**

4. Would love some loopy Dean on painkillers. **(Have to wait til the end)**

5. Stories with scenes where Deans hands are out of commission, where he's slightly embarrassed, where he's tired or grumpy, or where his skin is hyper-sensitive are always a hit with me. **(you're only gonna get one hand, and I'll do my best with the rest)**

I'm am totally not opposed to some delicious claustrophobic Dean. :-) **(Me either)**

**(And dude, you left out rats, where are the rats???)**

It is my duty to honor her requests and add some of my own. I know a lot of you will find, in pain, nauseaus, shaky, loopy and arching Dean repellant so I understand if you choose not to read. I have created my own monster (Poster can be found on my website or on Deviant art if you're curious) and there may be some semblance of a plot but it's thin, it might break if you walk on it and you'll fall in.

I cannot be responsible for accidents.

Even if I am the cause of them.

On your own head be it.

* * *

**Teaser**

**Brightline Coal Company Show Mine**

**3:48 pm, Thursday, July 17th**

The small coal car made it's slow rumbling descent down the shallow incline one hundred feet to the bottom of the mine, its occupants, three service techs investigating the sudden electrical shorts that had sent the last tour back in darkness, early, with a promise of refunds and apologies, rode in bored silence. It had been a small tour group and the last of the day but there were several field trip tours scheduled for the next day and they needed to find the problem and get it fixed.

Ruth Denby, a robust woman of mid life years and tougher than most of the men she worked with rode the car with comfortable ease, obviously used to the rocking and swaying as it crept down the inclined tracks. Dark red hair shot through with strands of gray was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck, her helmet resting lightly on the ball of hair. She used the lamp on her helmet to mark off items on her clipboard list.

She looked up once to grin at Carl Reynolds, the newbie, who rested stiffly against the broad wire of the cage enclosure. His eyes darted nervously to the rough hewn stone walls then to Ruth, his face shifting instantly from unease to cool nonchalance.

Ruth snorted softly and shot a quick look at Grant Carson, one of the regular guides who manned the controls. Grant glanced at Carl, rolled his eyes and shook his head.

Most of the workers at the Brightline Coal Mine slash Show Mine Tourist Attraction were former coal miners and knew the ropes but Carl had only been on the job for a few days as a college intern studying various types of mining and their past and present impact on the environment and hadn't actually made it down to the mine itself yet.

Early twenties, going prematurely bald under his own helmet, eyes magnified by heavy Buddy Holly style glasses, Carl glanced around at the timbered walls creeping past him.

They had emergency lighting rigged but it was still half dark and he couldn't help but feel as he looked at the blackness ahead, that he was being pulled down some creatures throat rather than a simple mine tunnel.

He jumped as a sharp finger poked him. "Ow!"

"It's a mine tunnel, kid," Ruth growled, sarcasm in her voice. "Not the gates of hell. You sure this is the right business for you?"

Grant's bark of laughter was lost in a smoker's cough.

Carl ignored her.

The car lurched to a halt when it got to the bottom, some three minutes later.

Grant locked the brakes and slid the door open.

And the screaming began.

* * *

When the little elevator car failed to return as scheduled and inquiries to the car call box went unanswered an accident was assumed and a rescue crew was quickly dispatched to assess the situation.

The car was sitting askew at the bottom of the shaft.

Glaring lights found Carl Reynolds crammed into the corner of the car, rocking and weeping, clawed, battered and covered with blood, holding the distorted, heavy wire door closed with his booted feet, , eyes frozen wide in shock.

When the lights from the headlamps hit, dispelling the darkness that had protected him, he began to shriek and try to shove himself even further back.

The only sign of Ruth Denby to be found was a wad of bloody hair, the bun she'd worn, torn from the back of her head, still bound by the green band she had fastened it back with that morning.

Searchers scouring the tunnel up ahead found Grant Carson's body several hundred feet away.

Most of it anyway.

Clutching Grant Carson's severed right arm to his chest in a death grip Carl Reynolds continued to rock, hissing in a low voice, "I've got you..._I've got you_..."

* * *

**Chapter One: Once in a Lifetime**

Avae (Ah-vey) are burrowers. They dwell in caves and tunnels made either by themselves or those conveniently made for them by man.

Like most cave creatures, Avae are blind, relying on an incredible sense of smell to locate prey or territorial encroachers. If they come into the upper world, forced there by hunger or _other _needs, they come out only at night.

Fiercely territorial, they spend most of their lives roaming their underground lairs for intruders: their own or any other kind. The only time they willingly encounter each other is during rare and short lived once-in- a-generation mating seasons.

Neither male nor female, each Avae is capable of bearing offspring once they exchange necessary bodily fluids—or whatever they did—then getting the hell away from each other as fast as possible to avoid post-coital death.

After that, the search for a host in which to deposit their progeny becomes paramount. The body of the other Avae is more than satisfactory if they don't make their escape fast enough.

Like wasps that lay their eggs in the paralyzed bodies of caterpillars or other creatures then leave their young to develop and feed in their live enclosure, to an Avae, as long as it was warm blooded and alive, any creature of decent size would work fine as a pseudo womb.

Unlike wasps, however, Avae guard their host until the young are born. Territorial imperative forces the older Avae to abandon the area to the younger at that point lest they kill their progeny.

If they were to destroy it, it had to be now.

Tracking so-called random attacks over a 50 mile radius that left two amateur spelunkers and a cave diver dead had also produced a witness who described their attacker as a deformed white bear. Drawing on resources he wasn't sure still existed, Bobby had managed to pull together the probable culprit.

The guy who had died from blood loss after his arm was ripped off would never know how lucky he had been.

As he brought the Impala to a halt, Sam glanced over at Dean, slumped against the car window, dozing fitfully. The line between Dean's brows that had appeared a few days ago appeared to have taken up permanent residence there.

With obvious reluctance, Sam reached over and gently shook Dean's arm, accompanying it with a soft, "We're here."

Despite his efforts, Dean jerked awake with a startled snort, looking almost guilty as he raised himself and looked blearily at their surroundings.

"Sorry," Sam offered. "I didn't mean to spook you."

Dean coughed, cleared his throat and massaged his right temple. "You didn't...I just...had my eyes closed."

He squinted through the windshield where the headlights reflected on a large sign attesting to the fact that yes, the Brightline Coal Company Show Mine was indeed a for-real coal mine that people could tour with a former mine worker as a guide. Nine to five, Monday through Saturday, open on Sunday for special events. After being closed for two months, it was opening again in two days with added activities.

Bring the kiddies for special walking tours.

_Open the buffet_, Dean thought.

"Shit..." he grunted, rubbing his eyes and slowly pulling himself together, taking a deep breath that ended in another throat-clearing cough.

"You sure you're up for this?" Sam said hesitantly, but still unable to stop himself.

Dean had been dragging around for the past few days running a low grade fever off and on, due to a raging sinus infection that had laughed at every antibiotic Dean had taken. He was achy, with a sore throat, mildly nauseous and cranky—emphasis on the cranky. He felt _almost _bad enough to justify going to bed but not good enough to do much more than bitch at Sam, stare moodily at nothing in particular and be difficult to get along with.

Including refusing to wait on this hunt until he felt better no matter what Sam had to say about it.

"Don't start," Dean rasped, cutting him off. "You know time's an issue."

"I know, but-"

"How many times have we had arguments about stuff like this?" Dean stated flatly, turning to fix Sam with a slightly out of focus glare. "And how many of those arguments did you win?"

Sam glared back, but he knew he was beaten, settling for rolling his eyes and shaking his head. "Fine, but you better be damn glad this thing depends on its sense of smell 'cause otherwise it'd hear you coming a mile off."

"Screw you," Dean growled, pressing his fingertips against the ache below his right ear. He opened his door and slid his feet to the ground, pushing himself upright.

The sudden increase of pressure behind his eyes left him expecting to feel his eyeballs burst from the sockets and go bouncing across the dusty ground.

With a wordless noise meant to convey agony, he clapped his hands to his forehead and cheeks to hold the bones in place. "Uuuggghhhccchhh..."

Sam sighed and opened the driver's door with its signature _scrinch. _"I'm just saying you need to take it easy for a few days and get over this-"

"I can't take it easy!" Dean snapped. He grimaced, holding the heel of his hand against his right temple, lowering his voice, "That woman could be down there somewhere..._still alive_...that thing using her as...as an _incubator_." Dean raised bloodshot eyes to look at Sam over the roof of the car. "Seriously, can _you_ take it easy?"

Thinking about Ruth Denby, still missing, made Dean want to throw up. Even though realistically he knew there was nothing they could do but end her suffering if that thing actually had her, it didn't mean it had to go any longer than necessary.

"Hell, Sam," Dean added. "Even if it's _not _using that Denby woman… if she's actually dead … that just means it would go on hunting for something or someone else to use instead!"

Sam shook his head, "You know I didn't mean it like that. I know we have to get this under control as fast as we can. I just wish it didn't have to be when you're sick. Not being 100% is dangerous." He sighed, "I know there's nothing we can do about it."

Dean straightened slightly and tried to compose his features into a look of health. "I understand that, and we'll be extra careful. _I'll _be extra careful. I promise."

_And we all know what those kind of promises, coming from you, are worth_, Sam thought to himself. If Dean had had _his_ arm torn off, he would have still tried to beat whatever evil bastard he was after to death with the severed appendage, even while the words "_I'll be careful_," were still falling from his lips.

"I'll hold you to that," was all he said. "Let's just get to it and get finished." He walked back to the trunk and opened it pulling out the bag with their supplies for this hunt.

Dean closed his door and moved to join Sam, stretching stiffly. "This is a tourist attraction?" He finally said as Sam unloaded the bag. "A coal mine? You sure Bobby didn't get his wires crossed?"

Sam nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, Dean, they run this sort of excursion train into the mine and one of the former miners describes what working in the mine was like and stuff, then the train follows the route around the mountain and back down. There's a restaurant and a museum. It's a recommended tourist attraction. Fun _and_ educational." Sam reached into the bag and grabbed some pamphlets, handing them to Dean who took them automatically.

He would have asked who the hell would want to see a thing like that but the tone of Sam's voice made it clear the answer was, _Sam_. Glancing at the pamphlets, Dean rolled his eyes and threw them back in the trunk in disgust as Sam's ever-present geek gene reared its ugly head.

"Sounds absolutely thrilling," Dean grumbled. He glanced around at the encroaching darkness. Night was falling. He knew from experience that in the woods, dusk became darkness in the blink of an eye. Luckily, the three-quarter moon and a cloudless sky dispelled some of the gloom as light wavered through the gnarled fingers of the leafless branches of the trees.

"We need to hurry up," He commented, watching as Sam removed two cloth bags the size of oranges. Dust puffed up as Sam handled them.

Even with his sinuses ravaged by disease Dean could still smell the homemade pomanders: sweetish, spicy, pungent and strong as hell, not really bad, but a little overwhelming.

"We have to cover ourselves with this dust," Sam said, demonstrating by beating the cloth bag lightly against his arm. Sparkling clouds of fine dust were released with each hit, settling on his clothes. "Bobby says it'll hide out scent. Be generous." He handed Dean a similar ball. "We can help each other with the places we can't reach."

"Awww, you gonna powder my back for me, Sammy?"

Sam gave Dean a small shove, secretly pleased to see Dean at least felt well enough to be sarcastic.

Dean coughed as the dust he was pouncing onto his clothes puffed up in clouds and got sucked into his mouth and nose as he breathed. He sneezed repeatedly, swearing in between wheezes. "What _is _this shit?" he finally demanded, wiping at his face , swearing again as the whatever the hell it was burned his eyes.

Sam, fighting his own urge to cough, one hand cupped over his mouth and nose, paused in the act of dusting his own clothing. "I dunno. Bobby made 'em. Said that friend of his guaranteed them to work. He'd been working on it for years. Tested them in the field."

"You mean with a live one of these things?" Dean stopped to give Sam a strange look.

"Yeah. Said it worked perfect." Sam continued to powder himself.

"That guy that has one arm?" Dean squinted at Sam.

Sam stopped and nodded, looking puzzled. "Yeah, I think so."

"Why does than not fill me with confidence?" Dean muttered, sneezing again before going back to beating the small bag of dust over his clothes.

* * *

**End Notes:** I kept it short to lessen the pain. It gets worse for Dean of course, and you to, I guess if you continue reading. Vanessa, I apologize, all I'll be able to offer is your requested list with a few additions of my own. (I do like my monster tho, I admit that)

Gaelic, as always.

Drags computer back into hole.


	2. Chapter 2: What is that?

**Last Chance **

**Chapter 2: What _is_ that?**

**AN: I got nothing.....**

* * *

They had brought small, but powerful headlamps that could be worn to keep their hands free, but were not as cumbersome as a helmet. Standard weapons would dispatch the creature, but they also carried their usual accelerants, strong nylon rope and electronic trackers to tag their way so they didn't become lost.

Both carried knives, heavy gloves and Sam had insisted on a first aid kit, a thermal blanket, water and protein bars. Dean had sarcastically asked if he wanted a teddy bear as well, but Sam had ignored him. "We're gonna be underground, Dean, an old mine, maybe caverns, it's cold, probably wet. Aything could happen," was all he said.

The creature could have been far away by now, anywhere along the fifty miles of tunnels lacing the countryside, but if it had gotten what it wanted, it would still be close by, waiting out it's short gestation period. Hopefully that would be the case and both parent and progeny could be taken out in one fell swoop. The next-closest hunters had been two states away and they were cutting it too close as it was.

"We have to go through the main entrance to get to the mine, there's a service entrance but it's on the other side of the mountain," Sam was saying as they moved up the gravel walkway to the main entrance.

Dean trudged along slightly behind him, his backpack an uncomfortable weight pulling at his shoulders. He couldn't get the tart scent of the dust he was covered with out of his nose, surprised he could smell anything at all.

"Did anyone happen to say if there was a guard or something?" Dean asked in a low, hoarse voice. "I'm not looking forward to trying to explain what the hell we're doing here." He turned away and sneezed suddenly, dust falling in a sparkling shower from his clothes, setting the bells in his head to pealing. Grimacing, he pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead.

"Bless you," Sam said, "They have a night watchman, Bobby said, but it's just some old guy who watches the cameras they have mounted from an office in the back." Sam glanced at his watch, "The contact said he's usually asleep by now. We just need to be quiet."

Dean nodded, leaning against the wall to watch as Sam knelt and made quick work of the locks on the door.

The main entry led to a small cafe on one side, the mandatory gift shop/museum in the center taking up the largest area, dim lights burning here and there. Examples of different types of coal cars, miner's tools, clothing, and equipment was arranged about the room, wall murals depicted a timeline for changes in mining through the decades. At the far end of the room was a heavy wooden door with a sign over it that said "_Welcome to the Brightline Mine"_

The room smelled of new construction and had obviously been dressed for a party. Grand Re-Opening signs were everywhere and sparkling souvenirs crowded the shelves.

They moved carefully through the room, watchful of displays. Sam paused at the cash register to pick up a brochure that had a map of the original mine tunnels and scanned it for a moment before stuffing it in his jacket.

"Let's go," he said, glancing over at Dean, whose attention had been caught by a collection of miners pick axes. "Dean!" He hissed. "C'mon."

Dean jerked, dropping his hand from the pick he was touching. "Sorry," he muttered, giving the pick one last glance. He pulled his pack up higher and crossed back to Sam. "You know we oughta get a couple of those things, they look like they'd make a helluva weapon."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam replied with a snort, "A pick axe would make a crappy weapon." He paused by short hallway that led to door marked 'Employees Only'. He stopped, putting a hand out to halt Dean as well, placing a finger in front of his lips in answer to Deans look.

Now Dean could make out muffled, tinny music.

_The door's open, _Sam mouthed, cocking his head toward the thin slice of light from the slightly ajar door.

_He awake? _Dean asked, face suddenly twisting.

He experienced a serious _'oh shit'_ moment as now that it seemed like they needed to be quiet, he was swept with an overwhelming need to--

_aaaaaaaacchhooooo!!!!!!!!!_

Horrified, he clamped his hands over his mouth and stumbled away into the gloom trying not to follow up with the coughing he knew would be next.

Sam had flattened himself against the wall and they both stood frozen for an eternity of heartbeats, Dean desperately trying to muffle his coughing in the crook of his arm.

Seconds ticked by.

Silence prevailed.

Lowering his hands Dean crept back, eyeing the doorway. "What the hell?" he whispered.

Sam reached out and slowly pushed a finger against the edge of the door nudging it open a little further. Dean peered around Sam, into the dimly lighted room.

The very _empty_ room.

Three monitors cast a bluish glow in the room but neither the desk chair nor the small couch against the wall were occupied.

"Maybe he's in the bathroom," Sam wondered softly, stepping cautiously into the room and looking around.

"I'll check it out," Dean replied, moving in the direction he had seen the sign advertising restrooms.

The bathroom was empty. Annoyed with himself, he rubbed at his watering eyes, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like shit. Running a little cold water in his hands, he gently patted the puffy skin under his eyes, thinking the cool water might ease some of the pressure. Wiping his face on his sleeve he went back to the office, finding Sam seated at the desk watching the monitors.

"No sign of the guy," Dean reported. "Maybe he's out somewhere smoking."

Sam shook his head and pointed at the center monitor. "I don't think so..."

Dean leaned forward, squinting. "What the hell?" he murmured, "What is that?."

"I think it's the transport car," Sam replied, "But it's at the bottom of the shaft. It should be at the top. Someone took it down the tracks."

"No," Dean said, "not that," he lifted his hand and pointed. "I mean what's that stuff all over it?"

Sam traced his own fingers over the screen, as if he could brush away what they were both seeing draped all around the little transport car.. "It looks like-"

"Spiderwebs," Dean finished.

* * *

The two sliding bars that normally bolted the heavy wooden door to the actual mine entrance in place were pushed back and the padlocks swung open loosely at the ends. It swung open easily at Sam's touch. Both brother's flinched back but nothing came at them.

"It still doesn't explain where the guard went," Dean said, peering into the darkness.

Sam reached out and flipped on a series of switches. Red, low wattage lights popped on, illuminating the small anteroom and down the inclined tunnel beyond, disappearing below eye level. It wasn't bright but you could see to move around.

"Why are the lights like that?" Dean asked, frowning. "It's like being in a theater."

"I think these must be emergency back-up lights," Sam said. "Red makes it easier to see in the dark. See the bigger lights along the walls? There must be something wrong with the system. We need to wear the lamps." He set down his pack and rummaged for his head lamp. Dean did likewise , fastening the strap in place, knowing he looked stupid and glad there was no one to see but Sam. A click and bright light stabbed gloom.

They edged forward, both drawing their side arms. Moving to the tunnel opening they both looked down. The tunnel dropped at a shallow angle but still cut off their view of what lay at the end despite the headlamps.

"Whadaya think?" Dean asked, eyeing the narrow maintenance stairs that ran next to the wall with undisguised distaste.

"I think maybe the guard saw something and for some idiot reason decided to check it out." Sam sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't think he came back."

"Shit," Dean spat in disgust, "Well, I guess we better go down." He kept his gun out but moved toward the stairs. There was locked gate but a powerful kick broke it free and they started slowly down, unable to walk without ducking slightly even though there was plenty of headroom.

Half way there, they were able to make out the transport car in the beam of the head lamps, wispy strands of God-only- knew- what tethering it to the walls and ground like huge cobwebs. The sight slowed their steps as they cautiously approached the bottom of the stairs.

Walking a hundred feet on even semi-level ground was a no brainer, going down a hundred feet of narrow stairs was another matter all together. By the time they made it to the bottom, Deans legs were vibrating and he'd broken out in a sweat.

He paused at the bottom, wiping sweat from his upper lip. Sam moved past him, closer to the transport car.

_That should _not _have been so hard_, Dean thought.

"Dude, there is no way in _hell_ I'm going back up those stairs," he proclaimed.

"It's just 'cause you're sick," Sam replied, "Take it easy for a minute."

Glancing around, Sam saw a large wrench sitting on a small table under a control panel against the wall. Grabbing it, he used it to poke into the filmy ropes covering the car. They stuck and came away with the tool when he pulled it back, offering some resistance. Closer up it looked like stretched out grey bubble gum.

"Don't get that crap on you," Dean admonished, walking closer. "Whatever the hell it is."

"Definitely," Sam agreed, releasing the wrench. It fell to the ground, but the webby material dragged it slowly back towards the car. Sam studied the phenomena with interest. The whole thing appeared to be shrinking in on itself, closely enveloping the outlines of the transport car. "I don't know what this is, but it's like some kind of weird, stringy, shrink wrap. I think it's actually drying around this thing like some kind of casing."

"Yeah, great to know. Where the hell did it come from?" Dean walked forward. "_Fuck_." he said suddenly.

Sam looked up at Dean's expletive and went to join him at the front of the car. "You okay--_oh_." He cut himself off as he saw at the what had startled Dean.

Dean stood at the front of the car. His light clearly revealed that the door had been wrenched off the hinges. More cobwebs spread across the opening and blood was splattered on the interior floor. It had dripped on the ground and spread in a dark puddle.

A very large puddle.

"Well, I guess that answers a lot of questions," Dean remarked, sweeping the ground with his light as he moved his head. He pointed at the trail that showed something had been dragged down the tracks and around the bend, bleeding profusely. "Stupid bastard." Dean coughed.

Sam had no answer for that. He settled his pack more comfortably. "Looks like this a waste of time after all."

They set off down the tracks following the blood trail.

* * *

**End Notes: Yeah, I'm disapointed in it too...sorry**


	3. Chapter 3: Hanging by A Moment

**Last Chance: Chapter 3**

**Hanging by a Moment**

**AN: **I had an AN but the computer died before I could save so I'm in a hurry and I don't have time to rewrite it Sorry.

* * *

They had discovered a few footprints a short distance down the tracks, human-like, large, but with wide-spread, elongated toes that appeared to end in claws. The hard ground didn't allow for much of an impression, but the continuing trail of blood running alongside the train tracks left a fairly easy to follow path.

Until it stopped abruptly.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean groaned, pausing to loosen the band holding his headlamp in place, sure the tightness had to be what was making his head ache worse. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. The dim red glow of the emergency back-up lights was hurting his eyes and it with every passing second he was just feeling shittier.

Sam walked a short distance ahead, light bobbing along the ground, "There's nothing else, no tracks, no blood, nothing. The train tracks go on; we're at least a quarter of a mile from the second entrance. The trail just stops dead."

"Maybe it ate him," Dean offered, ignoring Sam's WTF look, "It probably picks up again, we just missed it. I mean, seriously, the guy wouldn't bleed forever, not with what we've seen spilled everywhere." He gestured vaguely in the direction they'd come.

Sam moved over next to Dean and leaned against the wall. He retrieved the map he had taken from the gift shop and unfolded it. Training his light on the paper he traced the route with a finger. "That's weird..." Sam murmured.

"What?"

"Well, this map shows the original layout of the mine, closed branches, active ones, and according to this, the tunnel did branch once, along here somewhere," he rubbed at the paper with the pad of his finger," this mine was actually part of a natural cave, but it was closed up when they found out it was dead --nothing there to dig for--it says it was blasted closed." Sam straightened and looked around. "We passed the display with the canary a little bit ago didn't we?" he asked, referring to the occasional diorama type display's they had seen scattered down the tunnel. He walked a short distance back the way they had come, scouring the ground.

"We've walked what? A half mile maybe?" Dean called after him, "You said the train ran a mile through the main tunnel then exited to travel around the mountain..." He stopped, shivering suddenly. His head lamp slipped out of his hands and fell to the ground. "Damn it--"

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, coming back. He swept Dean's body with his light.

"Nothing," Dean complained, bending down to retrieve his light, swearing at the sudden pound in his head. He shoved at Sam. "Get that out my eyes!"

"Dude, you're sweating..." He reached out to feel Dean's face when he straightened up.

"Well, it's hot down here!" Dean snapped, smacking Sam's hand away.

"No it isn't!" Sam snapped. "This was part of a natural cave, it's always cool down here, the brochure says so. Hell, I'm cold and I've got a jacket on. You're running a fever again!" Sam huffed in frustration, "Crap, Dean, let's just go back, wreck some of the equipment so they can't open and let the other guys take care of--"

Dean twisted away, "I'm okay!" he snapped. "Let's just figure out where the hell this thing went so we can waste it and get the hell outta here."

Sam frowned, but knew better than trying to reason with someone that couldn't be reasoned with. "Fine," he said tightly. "There's gotta be something we're not seeing, a hole or something the Avae goes through. The blood stops right around here so it's gotta be somewhere close." He turned to shoot his light down the tracks a short distance." We can work our way down the walls, fifty feet in each direction on this side then down the other if we don't find anything."

Dean settled the lamp back on his head and deliberately turned it on to glare into Sam's eyes, satisfied when Sam threw up his hand to block the light and swore, using a word he didn't indulge in often. "Suits me," he said. Swiping an arm across his forehead he started moving to the left, examining the walls and ground around him.

Everywhere he touched seemed solid as he felt and pressed against the walls, toeing the ground with his boot. He didn't know what the hell he was looking for anyway.

"Hey," Sam said suddenly, startling Dean as he came back around the curve of the tunnel.

"Jesus Christ, Sam, scare a guy!" Dean rolled his eyes, holding his chest.

"I just realized you wiped a lot of that dust off your face and hands, you need to dust yourself again." Sam stood there with a determined look on his face.

"Aw shit, Sam, I don't like the way it smells--"

Sam cut him off. "Well, apparently neither do Avae, so let's not take any chances. Besides, the way you sound right now I can't believe you can smell _anything!_" Sam pulled his own pounce bag out and proceeded to beat Dean's clothes with it.

Dean batted him away, "Okay! Dammit, I'm doin' it! Stop touching me! Jeez!" He dragged his pomander out and struck himself several times in the face, half blinding himself, coughing. "There," he wheezed, "Happy now?" He sneezed, almost doubling over. His eyes felt as though they ballooned out of skull like a cartoon.

"Holy shit..." He sneezed twice more.

"For God's sake, Dean. Can you just once act like an adult?" Sam turned and stomped away. "Hands too!" He tossed over his shoulder.

"Yes, Mother!" Dean snarled. _Hands too! _He mouthed, flogging himself angrily with the little bag. Clouds of sparkling dust settled all over him, making him think, stupidly, of Tinkerbell, the cloying scent filling his nostrils even as he tried not breath it in. _Can't smell anything, my ass..._

He leaned back against the shallow depression in the wall behind him, his hands cupped in front of his mouth, still coughing, the dust bag clutched tightly in his right hand.

He stiffened as the dirt beneath his feet suddenly shifted. Before he could do more than choke out a hoarse bark of surprise, the ground fell away and he was falling backwards.

Sliding helplessly on loose rock, flailing his feet and arms in an effort to stop his plunge rocks struck him from all sides. One jagged spike of stone tore his headlamp off as his body rolled suddenly, striking him in the temple and slashing across his forehead instantly knocking him senseless.

The pain that exploded up his right arm was lost to oblivion as his body jerked to a vicious and abrupt halt, boot tips mere inches from the blackness at the edge of the sloped precipice he lay on.

* * *

He couldn't have been out for more than a minute, but the return was unpleasant. His head felt like part of it had been ripped off. Blinking groggily, he felt his body shift on the loose gravel. So many places on his body were putting in a claim for attention he couldn't pinpoint the area with the most need.

"Christ..." he groaned, coughing, then groaning more loudly as the ache in his head shot straight to the top of his pain Richter scale.

Closed his eyes again, he took a few shallow breaths, allowing himself to catch up with what had just happened.

He was lying on his back, canted at a steep downward angle. Somehow he had managed to break his fall. Realizing his headlamp was lying nearby, still glowing weakly, but shedding enough light that he could dimly make out his immediate surroundings. Stretching out his left hand he tried to snag the torn strap, but it was a little beyond his reach and he feared he would slide further down the slope if he moved too much. It also put uncomfortable pressure on his right shoulder, drawing his lips back in a grimace.

Squinting down at his feet, he was not in the least reassured by the fact that beyond his boot tips was only blackness. Gingerly he tried to pull up his feet to find a more solid purchase, but they only slid on the rocks. The sudden jerk to his body sent hot pain radiating down his arm from his hand.

It was only then that he actually took note of the fact that his right arm was stretched out above his head and appeared to be caught in the rocks judging from the fact that he couldn't pull it loose. He could move his fingers at least, slightly, although the pain was nauseating. In fact, with every passing second it felt more and more like the entire weight of his body was almost totally depending on his hand to keep him in place.

At the angle he was laying even if the weak light had reached that far, he couldn't tilt his head back enough to see what gripped him, but it was obvious if it lost its hold on him, he would go plunging into the blackness beyond his feet.

Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes against the pain and yelled as loudly as he could, which, even though his skull seemed to split in half wasn't nearly as loud as he wanted.

"_SAAAAAAAAAAAMMMM!!!"_

* * *

Sam dusted his hands off on each other and surveyed the expanse of wall he had been examining.

Nothing.

Solid as a frigging rock.

"I can't find anything," he called out. "You having any luck?" He pulled out a bottle of water and took a quick drink. "Dean?" Screwing the lid back on, he walked around the slight curve and looked back the way he had come, expecting to see Dean either working his way down the wall or at least sitting on the ground looking bored.

Dean was nowhere in sight.

"Dean?" Sam called, breaking into a jog. "_Dean!" _Back at the point he felt sure was where he had left Dean he looked around wildly. "Dean this isn't _FUNNY!"_

His head snapped up as he heard his name called, it was weak and muffled but there nonetheless.

Panic began to race his heart, knowing even Dean wouldn't play a joke this stupid.

Moving first one direction then the other trying to figure out where the disembodied voice had emanated from, Sam yelled out Dean's name repeatedly.

He scanned the walls and ground closely, light finally coming to rest on the unmistakable sparkle of Avae repellant dust by a slight outcropping.

Two steps to the wall and he was instantly falling as his feet sank into loose dirt, sliding downwards.

"Shit!" He exclaimed in shock, scrabbling madly to stop his forward momentum, one booted foot flung up to brace where wall met ground simply went through what looked like solid dirt, tearing a hole. Only by slamming himself sideways and catching his body on the edges of the unexpected opening did he manage to stop his slide.

Gasping for breath as he braced himself, he raked his hand down the pseudo-wall in front of him. "Oh my God..." Stunned, he clawed away what he recognized by feel as more of the sticky webbing, but this time studded with rocks and dirt in such flawless camouflage, that even with their lights they had not noticed it.

Sam got his wits about him and called into the opening, fumbling his headlamp back into place, "Dean!! Can you hear me? Are you down there?"

"Sam... thank God..." Weak and hollow sounding, but it was Dean.

Dizzy with relief Sam twisted to pull his leg free, squirming around to shine his lamp down the tunnel. It went down at a severe angle with clumps of rocks protruding here and there. The whole thing was floored with loose gravel that, if caught by surprise, would have been damn near impossible to keep your footing on.

"Where are you?" Sam asked. He leaned forward and squinted, careful not to lose his tenuous grip.

"Move your light...down..."

There.

Some 15 feet down, his light reflected suddenly off a hand raised waving unsteadily, just where a large outcropping of splintered rock and wood blocked his view.

"Dean!! I see you! Are you okay?" Rocks tumbled down as Sam moved.

"Jesus, be careful!" Dean cried. "I don't need you stuck down here too!"

Swearing, Sam forced down himself to think. "Are you hurt?"

"I banged my head...I think I was out for minute...the ground gave way. I can't get back up, every time I move, I slide. M-my hand's caught on something. I can't get loose..." Dean swore as he coughed in the darkness.

"Hang on; I'll come down to you! Where's your lamp?" Sam called down.

"Hit it when I fell...worked for a minute then...quit..."

Pushing carefully, Sam backed away from the opening and glanced around. Dumping his pack on the ground he opened it and pulled out the coil of nylon rope he had insisted they bring to Dean's repeated annoyance.

Looking around he realized there was nothing to tie it to but the track. He knelt by the wooden ties that supported the rail and used his fingers to dig underneath, allowing enough room for the rope to loop around the metal, tying the best knot he'd ever tied.

Going back to rummage in the pack again, fingers fumbled as he tried to hurry, he snagged the electronic markers and snapped one loose from the pack, stabbing it into the ground by the rope and switching it on. It emitted a faint red glow. The tiny signal should last for days. He hoped to God that didn't matter. The tracker he found in the bottom of the pack and stuffed in his pocket.

He was gonna get Dean and they were gonna get the hell outta Dodge. The mine people could fix their own damned problem.

Tying the rope into harness around his hips, he carefully worked his way through the opening, feet first, trying not to dislodge anymore rock than he had to. He might slip but at least he wouldn't fall. Not too far, anyway.

"Dean, I'm coming." he warned. "Watch your eyes in case any rocks fall the wrong way." When Dean didn't reply he spoke again, more loudly, inching himself into the opening. "Dean, can you hear me? You okay?"

"Yeah...yeah, I hear you... just dizzy..."

"Hang on," Sam repeated. "I'll be right there."

"Be careful...man..."

With the loose gravel to move on it didn't take long to slide down to where Dean lay behind the outcropping of rocks. He let some more rope out and slid down a few more feet, moving closer to an obvious lip, feeling the rocks dig into the denim covering his legs.

Struggling to keep his footing he pulled up slightly and aimed his lamp over the edge.

Relief flooded over him as he saw Dean's head. He was lying on another sharply inclined shelf of rock just below where Sam was perched. Considering the angle Dean lay, it was a miracle he hadn't continued sliding and gone totally over the edge into the darkness Sam could see past Dean's boots.

"Thank God!" Sam breathed, carefully letting himself down more until he was semi-crouched next to Dean, careful not to dislodge his brother's precarious position.

Dean blinked slowly and his mouth twisted in a smile as he saw Sam. In the light Dean's eyes were glassy and his face was blood streaked. "Hey, Sam..." he said hoarsely. His eyes fluttered and he shifted sluggishly, sending more rocks pattering down

"I'm here," Sam hastened to reply, gripping Dean's arm. "You okay? You're kinda scratched up. Don't move too much, I don't want you to slide any further."

"I think...found the way in..."

"No shit," Sam said softly, trying to get a good look at Dean in the light of his headlamp. There was nasty gash across the side of Dean's head, explaining the blood, and a multitude of scrapes. He tapped Dean's cheek as his brothers eyes closed again. "Come on Dean," Sam said, tapping Dean's cheek softly with his fingers. "Open your eyes. You're okay, just keep your eyes open for me and we'll get you outta here. You think you broke anything?"

Dean grimaced, "jus' m'head...nothin' important." The slight slur in his words was disturbing, but at least he was conscious.

Before Sam did anything else, he swiftly looped a section of rope through Dean's belt to prevent him from falling any further while Sam tended to him. He might still slip, but at least Sam would be able to stop him.

Dean raised his head slightly to look. "whatcha doin?"

"I'm tying my rope to your belt so you can't fall any further. Now aren't you glad I brought it?"

Dean closed his eyes again and coughed. "You and your fucking rope..." he mumbled drowsily.

Sam's light reflected the fact that they were in some sort of low cavern. Looking down, he saw that they were on a narrow ledge that seemed to be the only thing that had kept Dean from falling totally off the edge. It was just dumb luck.

Leaning out slightly he was grateful to see what appeared to be the floor of the cavern about ten more feet down. He didn't waste time looking further, they were going up, not down.

Dean's body lay slightly turned to the right, his pack half buried under him. His right arm was stretched out above his head. It didn't look comfortable and Sam wanted the first aid supplies Dean had in his pack.

"Dean, I need to move you a little to get to your pack," Sam said, reaching out to push him gently farther to the right, so he could pull the pack out from under him. "I'll take it slow..."

His first effort brought Dean to life with a yell. "OW! _Stopstopstop!_ Fuck, _stop! My hand!" _Dean's other hand had come up automatically to grab its mate. "Souvabitch...I told you I'm caught on something!"

"I'm sorry! I forgot! I'm sorry!" Sam exclaimed, lifting his head to shine his lamp on Dean's hand, hidden in the shadow of another overhanging rock.

And then he knew why Dean had fallen no further.

The antlers must have come from a huge buck.

Sam was unable to halt the sudden sound he made at the sight of the eight inch prong of deer horn that had speared through the palm of Dean's hand as he'd fallen; a second horn stabbing into his forearm, right through the fabric of his shirt and jacket. Blood was soaking his hand, sleeve and the rocks he lay on.

"What is it?" Dean asked thickly, twisting his neck to see. "Whad I do?"

Sam opened his mouth to answer, snapping it shut with a clack of teeth, both their heads swiveling to the left as a series of staccato grunts sounded from out of nowhere, echoing loudly around the tunnel they lay in.

* * *

End Notes: I forced Gaelic to read this 3 times cause I kept changing it. She's very brave.


	4. Chapter 4: It's not the dark

**Last Chance Chapter 4**

**It's not the dark...it's what's in it...**

**AN:** In the past year I have filled out at least 100 job applications, probably more. At this point I don't see how ANYONE can get hired for a job. All the applications are either online, which is tantamount to throwing a message in a bottle into the ocean and hoping to God someone finds it and it better be someone who needs exactly what the message says or they'll toss it back, assuming they ever found it in the first place. Or they are actually applications you go to the place of business and fill out where you will inevitably hear these fateful words, and I have compiled a list:

**1. We are hiring but only part time**. (I defy anyone who works by the hour to find someone who is actually hiring full time people) Part time equals 18 -35 hours a week. WTF? 18 to 35? Who the hell can work a job with those hours? One week you work enough to eat, the next you don't?

**2. We AREN'T hiring but we are always taking applications.** And yes, they are and they do keep applications on file for differing amounts of time, but trust me on this, they never look at them again. Just because it's put in a trash can with drawers and called a file cabinet doesn't mean it isn't still a trash can. Why the hell would they go back thru old applications when in the course of a month they get 200 more new ones? Online applications have this down to a science, even it you want to put in another application before the time is up because you see they are now hiring for just the position you are perfect for but they weren't last month when you put in the application, the system won't let you and since you know your application is in the trash can with drawers waiting to be thrown into the bigger trash can you have effectively been screwed.

**3. You were perfect for the job but you didn't pass our personality test.** ???????????????????? Seriously? Was I being interviewed for a job or a date?

**4.** **We get a lot of applications and honestly, we probably look at less than 10%.** This is also true and also understandable. Unfortunately it also means a lot of potentially wonderful workers simply never get seen. The applications they DO look at are pressed into a mold and if they fit isn't perfect they get tossed as well.

I'm sure there are more but I can't remember, chances are you'll never get an interview anyway so it probably dosn't matter. And since I've broached the subject, I had no idea, ther were so many different kinds of job applications, and i'm not talking about for different types of jobs, I just mean basic information job applications. I'm talking pay by the hour grunt work jobs. I filled out aplications for jobs as retail clerks and warrant secretaries, hospital workers and printing clerks in office stores. The stupidest one I filled out barely asked my name let alone my work history, I'll never understand how anyone could decide who would be a good interviewee from a 2 page form that asked your name, address and have you ever held a job. The craziest one i filled out was for a job in an office supply store, it was 20 pages long and had so many security questions on it I would suspect it had been borrowed from the FBI, but I don't think their's is that complicated. All just to sell a frigging paperclip to Joe Blow. The one I filled out for the Sheriff's office understanadly wanted a photo but why the hell did I have to get my signature notarized?

If I'm a felon, completeing an application for the sheriff's office with falsified information I'm obviously also an idiot.

It's been a very frustrating search. And the capper to the whole thing. The job I actually do have i have been told I'm perfect at, I do it exactly the way I'm supposed to, the way they want everyone to do it. I'm the poster child for their sales program. We work on commission.

The punchline? My reward for doing it EXACTLY perfect?

I'm the only one who never makes any money.

* * *

**An 2:** This was written very fast one night when the spirit was upon me. Gaelic carwled out of her sick bed to read for me and I have made corrections and redone some of it based on her comments. Even half dead she still has a discerning eye.

Hope it satisfies, cause it got up faster than i usually do, but therwe on't be anything more til after Thanksgiving which i hope you all have a very lovely one or just a nice Thursday the 25th if you aren't American. Sometimes it's hard to find things to be thankful for, a lot of us are broke, lonely, jobless, desperate, depressed, you know how it is, but sometimes all you really need is to know someone is out there, offering their hand to you, they can't change things for you or make it better but they can still reach out and find things to share, to lose yourself in, forget the bad stuff, even if it's just for a minute.

Ta for the hands I feel held out to me in the form of hits to my stories, the loved reviews, the messages, jokes and vids peope send me, the special hands that want to fix the bad things even tho they know they can't, but they keep trying anyway. I don't have much to offer in return but my heartfelt appreciation for the time you've given me, allowed me to share with you and that has changed me as a person.

I'm still rotten, but I'm no longer alone.

**AN3:** Enough of that crap. Mayhem awaits.

* * *

Dean's eyes shot wide open. "What the fuck was _that?" _He inadvertently jerked his pinned arm, biting back a choked cry. "Shit, Sam, get me loose!"

The sound came again, it seemed closer, but there was an echoing quality to it that made it hard to tell.

"Dean, hold still!" Sam hissed. "You're making it worse!" Adrenaline made Sam's hands shake as he tried to figure out how to get Dean free, causing as little pain and additional damage as possible. "You're already bleeding like a stuck pig, for God's sake!"

Sam couldn't budge the antlers and Dean's own weight was keeping him pinned solidly in place. "Dean we gotta get your weight off your arm; I can't move the horns. Can you brace you feet and lift up at all?"

Dean grunted in pain as he tried find some footing in the loose rocks. "I can't...my feet keep sliding--" he finally gasped.

Sam ground his teeth in frustration, then turned and dug through the backpack next to him. He withdrew a pair of heavy leather and canvas gloves. Quickly, he rolled one of them into a sort of tube and pushed it at Dean's mouth. "Bite down," he ordered, "This is gonna hurt."

Dean's eyes widened but he opened his mouth and allowed Sam to shove the bit between his teeth.

Grasping Dean's belt, Sam said, "Pull you legs up so I can get my leg under them, I've got you, you won't slide." He turned half on his side, hanging over Dean, his left boot braced against a large rock jutting up nearby, his right leg bent. As Dean lifted his knees and dragged his legs up, Sam shoved his own leg under Dean's and pushed solidly against Dean's butt, taking all the weight as he could and pushing up as much as possible. It was awkward as hell, and he kept sliding, but Sam managed to shove Dean up enough to allow his right elbow to bend.

Dean eyes rolled, face twisted, unable to see what was happening. He growled low in this throat, teeth sinking into the glove despite himself.

"Hang on..." Sam murmured, his own face contorted with the effort of trying to hold Dean's not inconsiderable weight. He reached up with his free hand and grabbed Dean's trapped arm between the two spots where the horns had stabbed him. "I'm gonna pull you loose. On three. Ready? _Three_."

Before Dean could even nod, Sam gave a mighty heave with the leg he had under Dean, jerking his arm off of the deer horns at the same time. Dean arched up against Sam as his limb came free, his yell of pained surprise muffled by the glove in his teeth.

Sam rolled off, but kept his grip on his brother's belt as Dean spit out the glove and curled into himself, clutching his arm, groaning.

"God DAMMIT!" Dean snarled, almost retching from the pain, as his head went for a long deep swim.

"Roll back over," Sam urged, grasping Dean's shoulders and pulling back. "I need to clean that and get it bandaged. You're gonna need an antibiotic the size of a truck when we get outta here."

Too woozy to argue, Dean shifted so Sam could work on his arm, fresh blood soaking his shirt and jacket. His hand trembled spastically as Sam grabbed a large gauze pad, opened a bottle of water and poured it over the wounds in Dean's hand and arm.

The hole in his hand had closed up once the horn was removed, but God only knew what kind of damage it had done. Even if he could have taken the time to stitch it he wouldn't have. The one in Dean's forearm didn't appear to have gone as deep, but both wounds needed a doctor's care. Sam was just grateful neither puncture had hit an artery. He reached for the small bottle of peroxide.

"This is gonna hurt..." Sam said again.

Dean's eyes rolled to the bottle and he snorted a laugh that turned into a cough. He closed his eyes and pressed his left fist against his forehead "Do it on three..." he wheezed.

Sam grimaced apologetically, "Sorry about that,"

"Always knew you couldn't count..."

Sam hesitated, then began to pour, lip curling as the clear liquid turned to reddish foam on the open wounds.

Dean bucked, scattering more gravel as he kicked out, moving his fist to his mouth and biting down to stifle the hoarse sounds he couldn't help making.

Sam quickly wiped the area down, covering the holes with more gauze pads and wrapping them as fast as possible, trying not to listen to Dean's ragged breathing.

"Almost done," he assured. "You doin' okay?"

Dean's eyes fluttered. "Don't feel so good..."

Sam's hand clapped over Dean's mouth, cutting him off as the warbling grunts echoed around the chamber they were in again, unmistakably closer this time.

As the light from his lamp hit the glistening blood all over the rocks Dean had lain on, the blood soaked clothes, Sam froze.

_Shit. _

_The blood!_

_It could smell the blood!_

"We gotta move!" Sam hissed, frantically untying the rope on Dean's belt.

"What..."

"Get your shirt and jacket off! Now!" Sam pulled Dean roughly upright and literally ripped his shirt and jacket off, heedless of the pain it obviously caused Dean to be moved so quickly.

"What the...what the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded. "Christ..._it's cold." _He shivered, trying to cross his arms over his body.

"Here," Sam snapped, stripping off his jacket, "Put this on. _Hurry!_"

"My gun!" Dean exclaimed.

Sam removed the gun from Dean's jacket and handed it to Dean. "Sorry."

Wadding Dean's clothes up in a ball, he jammed them under the rock that still held the antler in place, noticing for the first time that Dean's pounce bag was stuck on the antler that had punched through his hand. He stretched out and snagged it off the horn, relieved to see it was only slightly blood covered, dust trickled out of the tears in the fabric. He shoved it in his open pack and slapped the flap in place.

One more quick grope in the front pocket and he snagged a couple of the little markers, one he stabbed into the dirt under one of the rocks, flicking it on, the other he stuffed in his pants pocket.

Grabbing both packs, he shoved them as hard as he could, sending them over the lip of the ledge they lay on, hearing them thump on the floor below.

"Sam!" Dean barked in surprise, coughing again, "What are you doing? Are you crazy?_"_

Snatching at the rope around his own hips, pulling the knot loose, he spoke in a rushed whisper. "Dean, there is no way in hell you can make it back up this ledge right now. If we stay here, lying all this blood we may as well just hand that damn thing a fork! We have to hide and there sure as hell isn't anywhere to hide up here! It's marked so we can find this ledge again, the tracker is in my jacket pocket."

The rope slid free and he tossed the loose end over the ledge as well, leaving it trailing back up the slope to the hole they had fallen through.

He grabbed Dean's belt once again. "Hold on, watch your head!" Using the loose rock to slide on, he pushed them forward, braced himself as they went over the edge. They landed clumsily, but other than Sam slightly twisting his ankle, not too much worse for wear.

Dean struggled to his hand and knees as Sam managed to snag one of the packs in a wide swing, but decided to hell with the other as noisy, wet snuffling, mixed with sharp excited-sounding whines came clearly from the corridor behind them.

He opted instead to grab Dean's good arm with his other hand and drag him to his feet, hauling him roughly along behind, as fast as he could manage. "C'mon!!"

They made it about fifty feet when Dean's suddenly stumbled and went to his knees, coughing and wheezing.

"Dean, we gotta keep moving--" Sam tried to get him up, but Dean only groaned.

"I can't... too dizzy..."

To Sam's horror, Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and slumped limply to the ground.

"No, Dean, please wake up-" Sam shook him, but Dean was out. Snapping his head around as he heard rocks falling behind them, he looked around wildly, spotting another overhang just up the tunnel with some large rocks almost blocking the opening, creating a small cave.

Grunting with effort in the need for speed, he grabbed Dean under the arms and dragged him over to the opening. Leaving Dean there he ran back for the pack and threw it in. Crawling over Dean, he grabbed his brother once more and pulled them both back into the darkness as far behind the protection of the rocks as he could.

Trying to calm his breathing, and praying that at least for now, Dean stayed unconscious, he felt around in the pocket of his jacket, which Dean now wore and pulled out his bag of dust. He kept one arm tightly around Dean's chest. Using his other hand and his teeth, he tore the little bag open, swearing to himself at the bitter taste. Upending the little bag shook the contents out over them both.

Still not satisfied, he groped for his pack and shoved his hand inside looking for the one he had pulled off the deer prongs. After a moments frantic digging he pulled it out, pausing as he heard a snuffling whine, and the clear sound of something sharp scraping on rock.

_Shit, shit, shit. _

Ripping the fabric of the bag open he dumped it over Dean's blood streaked face and bandage wrapped arm. Even though he knew the Avae couldn't see he doused his light, feeling oddly safer in the dark.

He tried to silently push himself further into the shadows, pulling Dean's limp body against him; the side of his face pressed to Dean's head, blood already forming glue between them.

Outside, the creature moved about in the darkness of the tunnel as it tried to scent the prey it knew was there, snuffling and scratching beyond the darkness of the rocks shielding them.

Sam closed his eyes and prayed Bobby's friend knew what he was doing when he had created the special dust they had covered themselves with and it would keep them hidden.

He started as he heard rocks being moved not ten feet from the tip of his boots.

_Go away, go away_...

Dean shifted as consciousness returned, his foot jerking minutely, dislodging a pebble.

Sam's hand moved quickly to Dean's mouth, his grip across Dean's chest tightening.

"Be still." Sam breathed into Dean's ear. _"Be still."_

_

* * *

_

**End notes:** I SAID I was still rotten...


	5. Chapter 5: I Will Follow You

**Last Chance 5**

**AN (i.e. The Rant):** What is it about selling shoes that compels people to tell you the most God awful things about their feet? In whispering confidence yet, looking around suspiciously lest someone hear them having therapy with someone who allows them to talk about a part of their body NO ONE wants to hear about. Even less so than "those special parts" we all have that are, at least occasionally, entertaining, but definitely not something you would offer intimate information about to a person you never met unless you had shared a large number of drinks, they were female and no one has asked you to dance.

Why does this obvious social restriction not include FEET? Feet are _yucky_. I don't want to look at or touch my own, let alone look at, touch or HEAR ABOUT anyone else's.

Of course, in the spirit of cosmic irony, God punishes me by making the only job I can get right now selling shoes which, in another, yet ironic turn, I love. I'm very limited in what I can wear for a number of physical reasons but, that doesn't stop me from lusting after them.

_Shoes_, not feet.

It's just unfortunate that in order to enjoy shoes you must have feet. (I apologize to anyone who does not have feet, I realize they serve an important purpose and I'm sure I would be devastated to lose mine, but that's not the subject of this diatribe.)

Where in the words, "Can I help you?" do you hear, "Please gross me out and disgust me with a detailed narrative regarding the fact that you have seven toes on one foot, each so long and gnarled they are tangled together, no toes on the other due to a freak accident during a Ballroom dancing competition forty years ago, when you were _sixty-three_, a nail fungus that the podiatrist says is _probably_ no longer contagious, but you'll wear those little hose things that will surely protect the NEXT person who tries that shoe on; that you didn't go out intending to try on shoes, so sorry about the fact that you're wearing the boots you mucked out the horse's stall with that morning and yesterday's socks and you don't cut your toenails, preferring to let them get so long they curl, crumble away or wear off naturally so the nasty things will scrape my hands as I try to fold your size eleven foot into a size eight shoe, but I need to be sure that no part of the shoe actually touches your callous-slabbed, misshapen foot with the second toe that has an extra knuckle so it's two inches longer than the rest because you have VERY SENSITIVE feet and no, when you kicked me in the head because you decided to cross your legs while I was getting the other shoe out of the box didn't hurt at all. It happens ALL THE TIME."

It's what I fucking live for.

Please, ma'am, may I have another....

And I can't believe I hear this statement EVERY DAY after trying 30 pairs of shoes and spending an hour and a half pretending like I give a damn this customer is so hard to fit she was wearing the boxes her last pair of shoes came in.

**Customer:** "It's very difficult for me to find shoes that fit since I'm a size twelve and one eighth triple A with a quad heel, high arches, plantar fasciitis, an orthotic appliance thicker than a club sandwich and bunions that make my feet six inches wide, so it surprises me that you found one that fits so comfortably, works for dress or casual wear and is the PERFECT color for the dress I'm wearing to my great-grandson's wedding _tonight_, they're on sale for 50% off and I've been looking DESPERATELY for two years...

but, really, seeing them on my feet now..."

_(Wait for it--)_

"I just don't like the style."

* * *

**AN 2**: Come now...you didn't think my AN would actually be about the story did you?

* * *

**Last Chance 5**

**I will follow you into the dark.**

_"--be still."_

Dean felt, more than heard, the words hissed against his ear; felt the constricting band of Sam's arm tighten around his chest and the hand clamped over his mouth. Pain rolled up his arm and slammed into his head in a repeating cycle that echoed his heartbeat and clouded his mind.

Confused and still floating on the edge of lucidity, he pulled away instinctively despite Sam's efforts to hold him, the sudden shift of his body dislodging several rocks near the opening of their small hiding spot.

_"NO..." _Sam breathed, eyes widening in horror.

Silence reigned for a split second.

Wild howling filled the air and Sam's ankle was seized in the blackness, pain shooting up his leg as what felt like knives sank into his flesh yanked him forcefully toward the opening. Yelling, he kicked desperately with the other leg, trying to free himself and scrabble forwards.

Dean cried out as he was shoved sideways.

The creature's grip on his leg tightened as Sam increased his efforts to break loose, the snorting growls and whines filling the cave became more frantic and excited. Rocks tumbled free as the Avae used its other arm to sweep more loose rock away, making the narrow entrance wider.

The darkness that had protected them was suddenly a nightmare come to life as Sam battled against an enemy he couldn't see. He could feel the denim of his jeans ripping as the Avae fought to hold him as frantically as he was fighting to break free. Dean's yelling added to the cacophony of noise and motion.

Sam twisted, sharp edged rocks making his fingers bleed as he grabbed onto anything he could find, yelling and swearing. Even as he struggled and thrashed to break free, his other leg was seized in an iron grip and his ankles were slammed together, a sudden tightness enveloping his lower limbs making it impossible to move either leg separately.

_Christ--webbing......it was wrapping him in webbing!!!!_

"Dean--_God_---." He groped desperately in the darkness.

"Sam!" Dean's voice was a hoarse wheeze. _"_Gimme...your hand!"

Sam felt himself being hauled backwards. He clawed madly at the ground and walls in an attempt to stop himself. Dean grabbed at him, fingers closing weakly in the cloth of Sam's sleeve, sliding until their hands closed on each other.

"I-- got you--" Dean grunted, trying to tighten his hold, _"Hang on!" _But even as he said it their grip loosened.

It was useless.

"Dean..." Sam gasped.

Their hands were already being pulled apart and Sam realized if they maintained a grip on each other, Dean would be dragged out right along with him.

It was an easy decision.

He let go; grateful for the rock that cracked into his skull, stunning him as he slid free, cutting off the sound of Dean screaming his name.

* * *

The instant Dean felt Sam's hand loosen its grip on his, Sam was ripped away. Dean screamed Sam's name and tried to throw himself forward, but pain from his injured arm left him gagging. In the blackness he was lost in, Dean didn't even know which direction to go. His ears followed the sound of falling rocks and the triumphant howl of the Avae fading as it made off with its prey.

_Made off with his brother._

He forced himself to move, hearing his own gasping and bitten back sounds of pain, good hand feeling around him for the opening he knew had to be there. He had never known such darkness, there was no hint of light to allow his eyes to make out even a faint glimmer of anything. It was like moving through ink. Claustrophobic panic began to set in

_He had to get out of this fucking hole!_

Every wheezing breath he took ended in a ragged cough. Lightning shot up his arm and exploded in his head, a fiery sweat bursting from his skin despite the cold. Trying to calm himself, aware that with every passing second Sam was further and further away, he squirmed around to lie on his uninjured side and used his legs to push himself forward, reaching out with is good hand. Rocks dug into the bare flesh of his chest and belly as his jacket slid loose.

The thought of his jacket fathered hope and he fumbled one-armed for the inside pocket where he always carried a lighter, replaced as needed. The seconds roared by as he realized that not only was there no lighter, there were no inside pockets because this wasn't _his God damned jacket!!!_

_"SHIT!!!!!!" _He screamed it; didn't care if the creature heard and came back for him, hoped to God it did.

Shoving his left hand into a front pocket he closed his fingers on the gun Sam had shoved at him earlier, the familiar feel of the grip calming him, easing some of the panicked tension from his shaking body.

He might be sick, hurting, lost in the blackest black that ever existed, but he had a weapon. He was gonna get out of this, somehow get to Sam and then empty every last fucking bullet into that thing that had him.

Feeling less helpless gave him strength and allowed him to gather his wits to some extent. His memory of the mad dash to the point he passed out was short and fragmented, but he was sure Sam had grabbed at least one of the packs, but his chances of finding it in the tarry darkness were so nil it wasn't worth considering

"Get it together, Winchester," he growled aloud. He needed to check the right hand front pocket, maybe Sam at least had a damned pack of matches. Sam had said _something _about his pocket...

Grunting at the pain the movement caused him, he continued to feel for the opening, on his right side, trying to keep his injured arm up out of the way although even bending his fingers swept him with nausea. He spat bile and cursed roundly as he finally got enough of the jacket twisted around to jam his left hand inside.

_"Come oooon..."_

His fingertips closed on something hard and plastic and with a groan of renewed effort he managed to snag the object and drag it out, slumping back n the ground, wheezing and coughing. He wiped sweat from his face and tried to identify the little box by touch. His hand was shaking so badly he was afraid he'd drop it as his fingers explored the surface. Shoving at a small projection on the side, he was rewarded with a click and a momentarily blinding flash as a tiny screen lit up. He yelped in surprise.

The glow was minimal, but compared to the pitch black he'd been in it was like a frigging spotlight. The darkness receded only a few inches, but it was light. It took another moment of stupidity for him to realize what the little box was as the glow turned into a grey screen marked with an N, S, W and E, a grid, three tiny red dots and one green one.

"Sammy, you son of a bitch!" Dean choked with relief. Two of the red dots were stationary, to the southwest of the green one, the third blipped continuously to the north.

Logic assumed he represented the green dot since he held the tracker, the red dot behind him had to be the pack Sam had dropped, the marker still inside must have triggered somehow. Therefore the blinking red dot had to be Sam.

Sam was still moving, and now Dean knew which way.

Using the trackers feebly glowing light, which was like using a firefly as a flashlight, he moved slowly along the ground, off balance, like a three-legged crab, back in the direction of the two stationary red dots, the pack Sam had grabbed had to be along here somewhere. His arms and legs trembled as he moved along, his body shivering in the cold air and shaking with dizzy weakness.

Creeping along like a damned spider with his head so low to the ground wasn't helping his sinuses which were starting to pound, his ragged coughs sharp punctuations of movement that sent fire blazing up his arm.

As he pulled his knees forward and went to reach out with his good hand his knuckles hit something soft. Gasping, he jerked his hand back, dropping the tracker and nearly falling on his ass. A few frantic gropes into the surrounding darkness and his hand closed on fabric.

_Thank God!!!_

He clawed the bag to himself, swearing as it pulled the muscles in his arm, slumping over the bag coughing, wondering dizzily how he was gonna find Sam after his eyes exploded from his skull.

Finally getting a grip on himself, he snagged the tracker and put it in his teeth to use as a feeble light, then holding the bag between his knees to work the zipper open he shoved a hand inside.

A few seconds of groping and his fingers closed on a cold, slim cylinder. He jerked it free and frantically thumbed the on button. The resultant burst of light was like an explosion. He cried out, shocked tears burning his eyes, the ocean of black he'd been drowning in receded instantly, becoming once again a cold tunnel of stone.

Holding the flashlight against his chest he rocked unconsciously, allowing himself a moment of grateful relief.

Further digging brought forth a bottle of water he instantly cracked and used to rinse the bitter taste of bile form his mouth and parch his raw throat. His stomach didn't want it, but he forced down half a protein bar while he continued to search the bag for treasure.

An inside pocket contained half a dozen chemical light sticks that he jammed in the pocket of his jacket. He could carry the pack on his good shoulder, but holding the flashlight and the gun proved problematical. His right hand was useless, his entire arm a throbbing burn of pain.

Sam was so fucking organized-- a place for everything and everything in its place-- that Dean found it painful at times, but he chose to bless Sam's need to be ready for everything and anything as more searching came up with a small bottle of pain killers and a roll of white adhesive tape.

He swallowed four pain killers with the last of the water and locking the butt of his gun between his knees, proceeded to lash the flashlight to the top of the gun barrel with the tape.

Where the light went, a bullet would now go.

Struggling to his feet, he shouldered the pack, holding his injured arm against his body, his good hand pointing the gun ahead of him.

"I'm coming, Sam..."

* * *

**End notes:** I know this was short. The next chapter will be the last. It's so frigging cold out all our cable stuff keeps dying so hopefully I can get this posted before it goes again. -11 wind chill today.


	6. Chapter 6: Never Look Back

**Last Chance 6**

**AN: **I'm glad everyone enjoyed my descent into madness last chapter wherein I discussed the nature of feet and the people who have them. I added a new one to my list of things I hate about feet: Feet with a second toe so long that even when they are wearing a sandal with a half inch platform said toe is still long enough to dangle over the edge of the shoe front and leave drag marks in the dirt while it's brother toes are so short they barely peep over the edge. (Drawing back in horror, I assume) When said toes are also hairy (think Bigfoot) I defy ANYONE to be able to smile at a customer and say through grit teeth "Those look really great on you!" When what you really want to say is, "My God, put that thing away, there are children present!"

Seriously...where the hell do they put a toe like that in a closed in shoe? Comb it and then roll it up like a party horn?

(You're looking at your toes now aren't you?)

**AN 2**: Gets grip on self. A few weeks ago I spent the weekend with my favorite partner in crime and my best effort at corruption, Gaelicspirit, her patient husband and their three year old little ball-of-fire daughter, who, for reasons I will never understand actually likes me. Waves at Mo Chuisle.

We had a great time seeing a movie in a theatre where they actually serve food in the movie like a restaurant. You order from a menu and they bring it to your seat; there's a table in front of each section of chairs with cloth napkins and real silverware, anything from pasta to a box of Goobers. And the drinks, the place included a full bar, come in real glasses. (I collect coasters; beer mats to those of you who don't know what a coaster is, and they had their own private label ones, my fave kind, I literally have hundreds, so I stole some). Unbelievable. It was wonderful and unique and a lot of fun. We saw _Daybreakers,_ which unfortunately I can't say the same about, but the company was perfect.

Gaelic and I also went to a solo concert with Aaron Lewis, the lead singer for the group Staind (compliments of Gaelic's lovely husband. Hugs husband virtually) which was great, more enjoyable to me because of getting to see Gaelic experience in person, someone whose voice and words mean so much to her. It was so foggy on the way back from Kansas City, I think Gaelic navigated by smell because you couldn't see twenty feet in front of the car.

Gaelic, on the other hand, got to watch me stumble around half blind after I tore one of my contact lenses Monday morning, the day before I was to go back home. I am legally blind without my lenses. People say they're blind without they're glasses, but I actually am. 20-750 in one eye and 20-850 in the other. My field of focused vision is approximately 4 inches from my face. The new ones I had ordered didn't arrive before I left for Kansas, they came the afternoon AFTER I left. Of course. I managed to get the eye doctor to find a ground ship service that was running on Martin Luther King Day (no mean feat there) so that I would get the lenses on Tuesday at some point. Then I had to call work and tell them why I wasn't gonna be at work Tuesday with a story that sounded trumped up even to me. Right up there with the dog ate my homework.

Do you know what a true friend is? Someone who will still go to lunch with you in public when you can only see out of one eye and have NO depth perception (I poured coffee all over her counter trying to fill my cup); will grab your arm to keep you from wandering off the sidewalk, enter your pin number because you can't even tell where the screen is, read a menu to you and manage not to laugh out loud while you hold a pair of chopsticks up to your totally bad eye so it has something to focus on so you can at least look out of the good eye while you try to talk. (Then again she may have been laughing her ass off, I wouldn't have been able to tell...) I held the menu over my eye for a while, but decided the chopsticks were more subtle. (You can make yourself believe anything....)

I know the people at the table across from us were torn between morbid curiosity and a sense of how nice it was that that lady would take her obviously mentally deficient friend out to a public place and be so at ease about it. (Gaelic had to tell me what I was eating and where it was on the plate). For those of you who aren't severely nearsighted, a side effect of NOT having your corrective lenses on is to literally put your face as close as possible to EVERYTHING to see what the hell it is and get a really good look at the texture of whatever it is. I've spent a lot of time studying the lines on my hand and I have a serious compulsion to look at the weave of fabric. The fact that said fabric is being worn by someone at the time is not a deterrent to me.

Gaelic has the patient tolerance of a saint, let me tell you

I gave up being one-eyed the next day and just ran blind which meant I sat 12 inches from their nice new BIG TV set and watched DVDs of SN while Gaelic and her husband got on with their lives. I could only focus on small parts of the screen since my face was basically against the glass, and yes, whenever possible those parts had Dean in them.

Therein I discovered one nice thing about being so frigging blind I had to get that close.

I got to see every twitch, eyebrow cock, lip curl and oh-so-subtle facial movement that Dean has in his bag of tricks better than I ever had WITH my "eyes" on.

I'll take whatever silver linings I'm offered.

**AN 3: **Look!! There's actually a chapter!!! Fior me it is a long one, and it is the end. If you enjoyed the above AN's, you may want to quit now while you're ahead... I hope this chapter isn't too disappointing, it's _high_ on gag factor, but I fear low on quality, but anyway, it's the last one. **Vanessa** I wish it could have been better, but I think I got everything on your request list in some version or another.

**AN 4**: Seriously, if you have a problem with bugs, you've been warned.

**AN 5: Gaelic, always Gaelic**

* * *

**Chapter six:** _Never Look Back_

The blow to Sam's head as he was snatched out of Dean's grasp didn't put him totally out, but left him too groggy to do more than hang limply in his captors grip as he was hauled through the blackness, held under the thing's arm like a sack of feed. His bound feet dragged along uselessly, unwilling to respond to his commands, his aching head bobbing sickeningly.

By some miracle his headlamp had stayed on, but was canted at such a severe angle he had to turn his head sharply to one side and roll his eyes as far as he could to the left to see ahead of them, but the erratic movement of the light was nauseating. The creature paused briefly now and again to sniff loudly at the air before moving on in a direction it obviously knew well.

The thick, rough hair of the muscular leg that brushed against Sam's face as it walked smelled like formaldehyde and the continued immersion in the scent, coupled with the blow to his head left Sam pretty sure he was gonna be puking sometime soon.

He reached out, the palm of his hand smacking against the side of the tunnel, but sliding loose before he could even try to grab anything. The unpleasant ride continued for several more minutes until the chemical odor grew suddenly worse and was joined by the unmistakable smell of blood and rotten flesh as they entered a large open chamber.

Sam retched helplessly, trying not to choke as he was slammed to the ground on his back, the breath blasting out of him.

Struggling to draw air-- even the thick, rancid air of this hole-- into his shocked lungs, he heard a strange _squish _sound above him, and twisted his neck awkwardly to try and get the light to where he could see.

His first close-up look at the Avae caused him to choke on what little breath he could get.

Corded muscles rolled under the pale, thickly matted hair covering the part of the creature's body he could see as it crouched over him. Long arms ended in wide hands with thick fingers, each tipped with a curved talon that made a bear claw look harmless by comparison.

It kept its head facing forward but cocked at an angle as if listening. Most of its face was covered with more hair but the area around the mouth was shockingly pink and bare. The mouth was a round, loose-looking opening; almost circular, with jagged teeth of varying lengths jumbled in it like a pile of jackstraws around which the lips could not close. It sucked air in wetly through this aperture, then snorted it back out again through a broad nose, thick ropes of drool falling unnoticed.

The upper part of its face was almost flat with two slight, hair covered hollows where there should have been eyes.

As Sam watched in disgusted horror, the _squish_ sound continued and gelatinous goop began to drip from the Avae's broad palms. It dribbled across Sam's chest and belly with a heavy, wet heat.

The _Avae _began drawing the slime over Sam's body with its hands, in back in forth movements. Sam cried out and tried to rouse himself enough to struggle, scared at the lethargy of his muscles, but the crap dried to the gummy consistency of rubber cement, tightening perceptibly, so fast that before he could even twitch he was bound as tightly as a fly caught in a spider's web.

After several minutes, apparently satisfied somehow with its handiwork, the Avae grunted, turned away Sam and shambled a few feet away, crouching down again. Soft thrumming sounds and gentle grunts began to fill the air as it attended carefully to something on Sam's right, his view blocked by the creature's body.

He turned his head to the left.

He yelled again, recoiling in horror from what that lay next to him, but unable to actually move further away.

Dull eyes stared sightlessly at Sam from the mangled remains of a bloated face, mottled skin skirted with graying beard, a dark, swollen tongue lolling from the slack lips. A quick flick of his head showed Sam the blood--blackened uniform of the missing guard, his body twisted and bent unnaturally. Translucent bugs scampered over the body and as Sam stared in horrified fascination, a pale centipede ambled out of the left nostril, down to the open mouth and proceeded to disappear inside.

His skin attempted to crawl off his body as he gagged and snapped his head away, his repulsion meter shooting off the scale. He was not at all grateful when the movement shifted the lamp back toward the center of his forehead as the Avae stood abruptly and shambled away into the darkness.

Giving him an unobstructed view of what lay on his right.

* * *

Sweat rolled off Dean's body in sheets, even though he was shivering. Magic powder or not, Dean couldn't imagine that thing not being able to smell him coming from a mile off.

Stumbling as he moved along the tunnel wall, his flashlight--gun combo held unsteadily in his left hand, the throbbing ache that was his right arm hugged against his belly, he forced his mind to concentrate on finding his way to Sam. Getting his eyes to cooperate by focusing on the tiny dots on the screen of the tracker was another matter.

Sweeping his arm across his eyes, blinking to try to clear them, he squinted at the tiny screen from time to time to get his bearings and make sure he was moving in the right direction.

Dean pressed close to the cold stone wall, trying to move quietly, smothering his coughs against his arm as much as he could, every spasm making him feel like his head was splitting in two. He might be able to muffle the coughs but the raw drag of breath sawing in and out of his lungs was harder to hide. The backpack on his shoulder was a dragging weight that forced him to lean forward in an exaggerated effort to keep his balance.

He was both gratified and chilled when a sweep of the light revealed blood splatters on the ground amid tumbled rocks that told him he had arrived at the point where Sam had been taken. The sensation of once again feeling his brother being ripped from his hands left him shaky and dizzy and he went awkwardly to one knee to keep from falling, allowing himself a brief moment before shoving back to his feet, using the wall as a prop.

Holding the light at an angle that allowed him to see ahead, but showed enough of the rock-strewn floor to keep from stumbling or tripping, he followed the rough tunnel as it turned to the right before splitting into two openings a dozen yards later.

"Fuck," Dean spat, staring at the rift. Angry frustration welled up in him as he stared at the two tunnels. He could take one branch and go far enough to hopefully be able to tell if he was going the right direction, but then he would have to backtrack and who knew how many twisted or joined tunnels there might be.

_"FUCK!" _he snarled again, kicking out at the ground.

Pain flared up his arm to join the party in his head, doubling him over with a low groan. The downward movement of his flash washed over the lower outside edge of the opening on the left and he jumped forward, momentarily forgetting his pain, reaching out to rest his hand on the smeared, but obvious print of a palm and five fingers burned in blood on the stone wall.

He stood, rocking unsteadily, bracing his good hand on the wall. Eyes closed, he sucked in a couple of strained breaths, trying and failing, not to cough. It was becoming a toss-up as to which hurt worse, his arm or his head, although his head had the added deluxe extras of unfocusing his eyes and sending his balance to hell.

Pushing past the pain with a herculean effort, Dean shone his flash down the left hand tunnel, face tightening at the sight of blood droplets splattering the tunnel floor, but their presence telling him Sam went this way. He moved on, the light played over the ground as he tried to avoid a misstep on the rocky and uneven floor, afraid if he went down he wouldn't be able to get back up. It was hard to hear over his own ragged breathing and he stopped moving, holding his breath from time to time in an effort to discern any noise that would indicate he wasn't alone.

Reaching another branch after a short distance he paused again to listen. Glancing at the screen on his tracker he could tell he was closing in and that gave him a brief rush of adrenaline, adding shaking to his list of physical complaints.

The closest to a rest he allowed himself was to lean against the stone wall as he tried to figure out which tunnel to take. No telltale bloody handprint was present to tell him which way to go this time.

Mopping his face with a forearm, he smothered a sneeze in his elbow and damn near knocked himself over.

"Shit..." he growled, disgustedly wiping his nose on his sleeve. Sniffing several times he stopped suddenly and switched from trying to clear his nasal passages to scenting the air, wrinkling his nose as a cloying odor caught his attention.

Stunned he could smell anything, he crept forward a few feet into the right tunnel and sniffed again.

Nothing.

Moving back he crossed to the left tunnel and went in, testing the air. Even in his clogged state he could smell it, curling through the air, thicker with every step.

Rotting flesh and a dozen other things Dean couldn't identify rolled down the narrow tunnel toward him like death fog, thickening the air as he walked on. Raising his gun to light the way, heart starting to race, he fought the urge to call out Sam's name, knowing his brother's atterntion might not be the only thing he got.

Sam wanted to close his eyes, had in fact, but they traitorously opened again trying to satisfy some macabre curiosity quirk in his brain that had apparently lain dormant until this moment.

* * *

Sam knew the twisted figure to his right was what was left of Ruth Denby, the missing worker from the rail car that had been attacked two months prior. He had seen her picture, a strong looking, heavyset woman in her fifties with dark red hair and blue eyes. The only physical resemblance now was the matted dark red hair. She had been smiling in the picture, but the taut rictus of her lips now, was a cruel parody of that moment.

Her clothes had been torn away, lying about her like a shed cocoon, her body reduced to nothing more than a thin papering of parchment shriveled over bones, skin so transparent the veins and arteries were tattoos of red and blue lines mapping her body.

Hands twisted into fists were drawn over her chest; whether they were there as a result of pain or an initial effort to cover herself was impossible to tell.

His eyes were drawn to the grotesque swell of her belly, a huge missdhappen mass that stretched her flesh impossibly from her breasts to her crotch. Even in the flickering light Sam was sure he could see a shape through the delicate covering of skin. As he stared, the shape inside her shifted and rolled lazily, like a monstrous animal searching for a more comfortable position.

The movement rolled Ruth's body toward Sam. He yelled in horror as her face came clearly into view.

Her eyes opened.

And his light went out.

* * *

The sound of Sam's voice crying out, galvanized Dean. His own pain forgotten, he surged forward, made a sharp turn and found himself in a stalagmite-filled cavern- the stench instantly becoming ten times worse.

"SAM!!" Dean yelled, Avae be damned, trying not to inhale. He swung his flash all over the cavern, searching for any visible sign of his brother.

"DEAN! God, _Dean_, over here! I can't move!"

Stumbling over rocks and what looked like an incredible number of animal bones, Dean fought his way around a large outcropping of rocks, his light finally falling on Sam, tightly wound in webbing that was apparently solidly stuck to the ground.

"Sam, thank God..." Dropping the backpack, Dean would swear to the day he died he knelt carefully next to Sam, but in truth his knees buckled in more of a controlled fall. "Are you okay?" he tried to shine the light on Sam, but couldn't handle the fact that he had to point the gun at his brother to do it. "Hang on," he panted, digging his knife out and slashing the flashlight free.

"I'm okay, I think. I just can't move. Careful," Sam warned, "the guards body is right next to you." The sight of Sam thrashing his head back and forth would have been comical under any other circumstances.

Dean flashed the light to his side and flinched, hissing at the sight of the guards mangled remains. "Jesus--" He swallowed hard. "Hold still, I'm gonna cut you out of this and we're gettin' the hell out of Dodge."

It was difficult to do left-handed; using his right hand wasn't even an option; it no longer responded to orders to move, but still managed to send burning pain up his arm if it shifted position even slightly.

Slicing the sticky webbing off of Sam was like cutting honey- covered rubber bands, but after several awkward minutes he managed to get Sam's side free enough for his brother to pull out an arm and get some leverage to extricate himself. Whatever toxin produced the muscle weakness initially from the webbing had worn off, and with one side free it didn't take long for him to struggle out.

Dean was rocking unsteadily on his knees, the hand with the knife falling limply to his thigh. He wasn't aware he'd slumped forward until Sam's caught his shoulders.

"Whoa, Dean. Christ, you're burning up--"

" 'm okay...just winded...let's go before...that thing comes back-" Dean allowed Sam to drag him to his feet, nausea rolling through him. Sam's hand was gripped tightly around Dean's upper left arm as Dean swayed, sending the flashlight beam arcing wildly.

"Wait," Sam said tersely, "We can't leave her like this--" He bent down and grabbed Dean's gun.

"Leave who...?"

Sam grabbed Dean's hand and moved the flash to illuminate Ruth Denby's deformed body. The creature growing within her shifted heavily.

It was too much.

Dean gagged, twisting away from Sam to vomit.

Sam lifted Dean's gun, mouth tightening as Ruth blinked up at him.

The first bullet went through her head, the second through her belly.

A quick rummage in the backpack and a few quick turns of duct tape had the flashlight re-strapped to Dean's gun. Reaching down, Sam hauled Dean back up to his feet, ignoring the pained sounds his brother was making.

Another quick sweep of his hand snatched up the softly glowing tracker and he thrust into Dean's left hand.

"I can't take point and watch this, you have to help me find our way out. Can you walk?"

Sam knew Dean would make no effort to save himself if he thought it would endanger Sam. Sam knew that he had to give Dean a job, a purpose, a mission. He could feel how far gone his brother was; finding and freeing Sam had been the only thing that had gotten him this far. If they were going to get out of this mess—together—then he knew his brother needed to feel as though he were saving Sam once more.

Dean reeked of sweat, vomit and blood. He was barely conscious and burning with fever; Sam wasn't even sure he even knew what Sam had said, but he nodded and gestured shakily with the tracker, his voice a hoarse rasp.

"Out of this hole...then right..."

Sam nodded, gripped Dean's upper arm once again and pointed the way with his light.

The claw wounds on his ankle where the Avae had gripped him stung and ached, making him limp, but he was prepared to crawl if that was what it was gonna take to get them out of here. The only noise was the scrape of their feet through the rocks, wheezing breaths and Dean's unwitting sounds of pain as they hurried down the tunnel, following his gasped directions.

It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes when they heard the scream echoing down the passage they had come from. It was an ear-shattering cry of fury and grief on a level so primal, Sam actually felt a stirring of sympathy.

"There!" Dean's hand shot out, drawing Sam's attention to the tiny flash of a red light ahead.

They had reached the ledge!

Sam's light hit the other backpack he had shoved over the ledge and the dangling rope was the best thing he had seen in days.

Dean stumbled and fell as his legs gave out and he went sprawling. Agony exploded as his right shoulder hit the ground and he almost blacked out, grateful to just be still.

Sam didn't give him the option. Grabbing Dean under the arms, Sam dragged him to the rope and looped it under Dean's arms, wrapping the rope several times around Deans forearm and hand.

"Grab this!" Sam snapped, closing Dean's fingers around the rope. "_Hey!_" he barked, seeing Dean's eyes close. He slapped Dean across the face, hating himself.

Dean's eyes popped open. "_The fuck_..." he murmured in bleary surprise.

Sam closed Dean's hand over the rope again. "Hold onto this!" Sam ordered, relieved to feel Dean's hand close reflexively around the rough hemp. "_Dean!_ You hear me?"

Blinking, Dean finally nodded. "Yeah...I hear..."

"Good!" Sam tossed the gun onto the ledge to give himself light, then jumped up and grabbed the rope, shamelessly using Dean's good shoulder for a step as he pulled himself up the line, dragging his body over the ledge.

Once on the ledge, he turned the light forward and grabbed the rope again; bracing his boots against the most sold rocks he could find and began to haul in the rope. Pain from his injured ankle sharpened his attention as he pulled, grateful and relieved to see Dean appear over the edge, releasing the rope wound around his arm to try and find a grip to heave himself up.

Sam scrambled down to the edge and grabbed Dean's good arm, dragging him roughly over the top, buoyed by Dean's broken invective.

"I gotcha," Sam panted as they lay there, chests heaving, his arm wrapped tightly around Dean's chest.

A not-so-distant warbling cry snapped Sam's head up. "_Shit._" He pushed to his knees and started pulling on Dean. "We gotta move!"

Dean groaned and rolled his head. "Can't..."

"My ass!" Sam spat. "Get up!"

He swiftly untied the rope from its mooring and began crawling up the rocky slope, feet sliding in the loose rocks, sending them cascading down on Dean. He made it about ten feet then wound the rope around the outcropping of rock that held the deer antlers that had impaled Dean, flashlight revealing the bloodied tips of the horns.

"C'mon, you lazy bastard! _Move!"_ Sam cursed, alternating between climbing and hauling, knowing that his curses would penetrate the fog of pain and sickness that was almost-visibly wrapping around his brother.

It took several agonizing minutes and a lot of creative swearing, but he finally managed to get Dean up the slope in two jumps, literally shoving him out the original opening they had fallen through onto the mining tunnel floor.

The Avae's whining barks sounded below them as they disappeared into the upper tunnel. Sam leaned back in, shining his flash and taking a shot as he caught sight of the whitish fur of an arm coming over the ledge below them.

He saw the bullet drill into the creatures upper arm as it disappeared with a howl of pain.

Sam backed out of the opening and grabbed Dean under one arm hauling him upward.

_**"RUN!" **_Sam yelled, dragging Dean along with him.

Somehow, after a few false starts, Dean managed to get his feet under himself and break into a stumbling run, compelled more by Sam's urgency than any real thought. There was no reasoning, no sense of peril. He just did what he was told. When he faltered, Sam shoved him forward, the light from the flash bobbing wildly as they struggled up to and past the rail car, still shrouded in its cloak of webbing.

Behind them, the coughing barks had become furious howls, bouncing and echoing up and down the tunnel, closer with every passing second.

Dean collapsed at the bottom of the staircase, chest heaving, out of his mind with pain.

"Gimme...the gun!" he wheezed, coughing, holding out his good hand. "I'll hold it off...you...you get outta here..."

"Are you outta your fucking _mind?"_ Sam yelled. "I'm not leaving you here for that thing!" He yanked on Dean's arm, trying to pull him up, staring down the tunnel as he spoke; they had less than minutes.

Dean groaned. "Sammy, _no_..." He'd lost interest in anything that wasn't rest, but he couldn't ignore Sam's desperate pleas, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Get _UP!! _You can play hero some other time!! Dean, _please!!!!_" Sam reefed on his arm once more, the fervor of his will shaking from his body and into Dean's.

Despite himself, Dean began making an effort to rise, the hundred feet of shallow steps above them looming higher than Mount Everest. Somewhere in the past few moments his fever addled brain had forgotten why it was so important, but if Sam wanted him to climb, then he'd climb--

Howling suddenly filled the air and he was shoved forward by Sam, sent sprawling against the steps. A mass of grey white fur exploded out of the blackness at them. Sam turned and fired; three blasts in quick succession.

Sam went down under the weight of the creature, landing on Dean's legs, crushing them painfully against the wooden steps, but the Avae didn't move again.

"Sam--"

"I'm okay!" Sam snapped, not wasting time. "Are you?" he wriggled and twisted, dragging his legs out from under the beast. He caught Dean under the arms and pulled him up a few steps.

Dean was shivering. The flash revealed bright new blood staining the bandages wrapped around Dean's arm and hand. The bottom of Sam's own pant leg was wet with fresh blood where the Avae had clawed him.

"I've been better..." Dean gasped, cradling his arm, lying exhaustedly against Sam's legs. "I think I'm...gonna be sick again..." He swallowed hard, looking down toward the heap of greyish fur below them. His head fell back. "Is it dead?"

"God, I hope so," Sam replied, "Let's get the hell out of here." He got wearily to his feet, "C'mon," he said gently, taking Dean's arm once again.

"Do we...have to?" Dean coughed, every inhalation a groan.

"You want to stay here?"

"If it means I don't have to move...."

"It's just a little further," Sam said, being as careful as he could trying to get Dean up.

Dean looked up the stairs to the far away door. "Dude...it's a fucking _mile._.." he rasped.

"Well it's not gonna get any shorter standing here. We gotta get outta here before the morning crew shows up." Sam made an exasperated noise when Dean resisted yet again.

"What about that?" Dean asked, nodding toward the Avae's still form.

"They can stuff it and put it on display for all I care." Sam growled. "C'mon for God's sake. You need to be mainlining some serious antibiotics."

"What I _need _is a drink," Dean replied, allowing Sam to put an arm around his waist, Dean's good arm over Sam's shoulder as they began to struggle up the steps.

It was the longest one hundred feet of Dean's life; every step jarring his battered body as he tried to lift one foot after the other and move up. He was so hot he was surprised the wooden rail didn't just combust spontaneously when he touched it, not to mention the fact that everything was sliding in and out of focus. The only thing keeping him on his feet was Sam as they struggled upward.

"You can do it..." Sam kept murmuring in an apparent effort to be encouraging.

"I _know_ I can do it!" Dean finally yelled; it was his intention to yell anyway, but it came out more of a pathetic yelp. He heaved for breath, dropping his head on his forearm where it rested on the rail. "I just don't fucking...._want _to. God...I feel like shit..."

He leaned over the rail and retched weakly. Sam gripped his belt to steady him, giving him a moment. "C'mon, it's just a little further," Sam urged, tugging gently when the spasms stopped.

Dean cleared his throat and spit, mopping his face again, then nodded, taking as deep a breath as he could. "Yeah...okay..." Grunting, he lifted his leg, settling his boot on the step below the door that led back to the mine lobby entrance.

Sam fairly lifted Dean the last few feet, so grateful to see the heavy metal door he felt like kissing it. One final step and they were through the soft half light of the lobby a welcome embrace.

Dean literally melted out of Sam's arms, collapsing to the floor to lie on his back, breathing heavily, thanking God for the cold tile floor, shutting his eyes in relief as Sam leaned back against the door to close it.

Seeing the door suddenly burst back open, sending Sam crashing into a display case, where he floundered helplessly, stunned, trapped in a morass of broken wood, glass and tools had such a surreal slow motion quality to it that Dean thought he was hallucinating.

The sight of the Avae filling the doorway, screaming in ear-splitting pain and fury, fur blood soaked from the wounds in its chest and shoulder, told him otherwise. Adrenaline Dean didn't know he had left pumped through his body, electrifying him as the enraged creature lurched toward his trapped brother.

"_**NO!"**_ Dean screamed, struggled to get to his knees, his right arm refusing to support him.

The Avae ignored him, somehow seeming to know Sam was responsible for its agony. It was obviously in its death throes, but determined to take Sam with it, even as it staggered forward, clawed hand reaching out for Sam's foot.

With no memory of how he did it, Dean was suddenly standing, feet braced apart, left hand death- gripped around the handle of the display pickaxe he had seen when they had first arrived. He let fly with an arcing, backhand swing that buried the pointed blade in the center of the Avae's spine with a satisfying _thunk._

With a scream more horrendous than any before the Avae reared back and clawed madly at the iron stake buried in its back.

Sam scrarmbled madly to get out from under it as it abruptly fell forward in a heap, twitching as its nerve endings conveyed the message to its brain that it was dead.

Still on his back, arms bleeding from the broken glass of the case, Sam stared open mouthed at Dean, rocking unsteadily on his feet.

Dean's mouth quirked in a crooked grin, eyes burning fever- bright, arm wavering as he pointed at the Avae. "Told you that'd make a great weapon..."

He was down before Sam move an inch to catch him.

* * *

"How's the arm?" Sam asked as he watched Dean flex his fingers, grimacing.

After a hastily contrived story about falling down a ravine and being gored by a startled buck, two days in the hospital for Dean, some minor surgery, the truckload of antibiotics Sam had predicted--not including the three prescriptions Dean was pretending weren't in the glove box--they were now back in another scummy motel for a three day rest at Sam's insistence.

Sam's clawed ankle and various glass cuts had caused Dean more concern than his own injuries, and he had agreed to the additional break in deference to Sam's (somewhat exaggerated) limp.

Now, though, they had packed up the Impala and were readying themselves to hit the road.

"Hurts like a bitch," Dean replied in surprising candor, his voice still hoarse and scratchy. "But everything works. Sort of." He slid behind the wheel, finding comfort in the sound of Sam's door shutting with its trademark _screek._ He knew he wasn't at full speed yet, planned on letting Sam drive after a few hours, but wanted the feel his baby tremble under his hands for a while.

"You were in such a hurry to go," Sam said, working to find a comfortable position for his legs. "Where are we headed?"

"Gonna pay a visit to Bobby's friend and express my gratitude about how well his magic dust worked as Avae repellant," Dean replied with a smile, bringing the engine to life and wheeling the big car around in a circular turn, heading them toward the nearby interstate.

"But...it _didn't_ work," Sam said, eyeing Dean suspiciously. "Not really, and it made you even sicker--"

Dean nodded, still smiling, looking straight ahead. "I know."

"Dean..."

"He damn near got us killed, Sam," Dean said, matter-of-factly. "I'm gonna see the guy, tell him what I think of his dust, rip his other arm off and beat him to death with it." Dean continued as though he were talking about grabbing a six pack at the corner store. He glanced at Sam. "It won't take long," he assured.

"_Dean. _Be serious. You're not gonna do that."

"Hide and watch."

"We're not gonna go…_threaten_ some guy..."

"I'm not gonna threaten him."

"Dee-_een_! The dude's already down one arm--"

"Then he damn well better learn to eat with his feet," Dean said grimly, gunning the Impala and turning the music up.

The End

* * *

**End Notes**: I hope it didn't suck too much. It's my last ride on the carousel for a while so that I can pursue some other projects. I'll be mainly doing art, banners and posters for other people for SN stories and such. I'll still write something from time to time I'm sure, but I'll be here, watching and reading.

If I could, I'd light a candle for every one of you who sent me a review or lurked, or even just thought about me. Positive vibes can always be felt, they're never wasted and like rain in a parched desert, breath life into an arid soul. You will never really understand how much your gentle rain has meant to me.

For that beautiful gift, I thank each and every one of you, known or unknown.

Ta so much.


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